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[poins]

There is a new(ish) wench inside the bar
Tonight, that's not been seen
Before within this space, and likely
Will not be seen again too soon.

Ned Poins hath known the favour of a god
Upon a feast that suits for suchlike things
And waits to see the outcome of his trick.

Also, fieryTrigon is signed on,
As Poins has not yet found out how
The thing is turned off.-



[[OOC: Thread where Poins is changed still in progress, but I promise we will get there!]]

Comments

[herr_bookman]

HD: If that was innuendo then so help me

[poins]

FT: So help thee who, my friend, about what innuendo?
FT: Oh, but there were a way to use this thing to smile!

[herr_bookman]

HD: That would be ghastly
HD: Sending smiles to one another
HD: Where are you?

[poins]

FT: In my chair, seated in a room that's underneath a roof.

[herr_bookman]

Autor immediately stands up and looks around.

HD: Oh?
HD: And what occurs in said room?

HD: (You'd better not have made it to the brothel already)

[poins]

FT: Ahh, so there is one, truly?
FT: I must find it! But not this very day.

[herr_bookman]

HD: And why is that?
HD: Yesterday you were drinking water
HD: Today you won't go a-wenching
HD: You're starting to worry me
HD: Have you seen the merits of ora et labora at long last?

[poins]

FT: There's other fish to fry, and fowl to catch
FT: That's rare and precious, and cannot be found,
FT: In every world, on any working day,
FT: So I would fain pursue the novelty
FT: While I may have it!

[herr_bookman]

HD: You saucy, tickle-brained scoundrel!
HD: You are up to something
HD: I knew it
HD: Which poor soul has caught your trickster's gaze today?

[poins]

FT: None yet but thou.

[herr_bookman]

HD: Given that you're not in the room, that worries me.
HD: Are you up in the rafters, perchance?

[poins]

FT: Then look around thee, ere thou worriest more.

[herr_bookman]

I can't use the T-minus to track him down, he thinks, frowning. There are too many here. Unless...

He stands, ready to sniff out his quarry.

HD: Mark my words, miscreant
HD: I will find you

HD: test
HD: test

HD: test

HD: test
HD: test
HD: test
HD: test

Unless he has heard it in Milliways, Poins likely won't recognize the first chords of Debussy's Claire de lune, but Autor suspects that the timed chimes will lead straight to the man. He sets out after his prey.

[poins]

Poins stares at the device, wondering why it sings.

[herr_bookman]

HD: test
HD: test
HD: test

And Autor's so excited about getting close to the source that he just about slams into a stranger.

"Oh!" he says, mortified blush already blooming. He looks at the floor. Or the ceiling. Or his T-minus. Anything but her; he's bad at apologies.

"Er," he finally mumbles, sheepish, "sorry."

[poins]

She smirks at him.

[herr_bookman]

"Right," he says. "So. I should go."

He keeps his head down and his eyes glued to his T-Minus as he tries to step around her.

[poins]

She smiles, and looks at him with simpering eyes.

But at the same time, she extends her foot in secret, as to trip him up as he is fleeing.

[herr_bookman]

Given that Autor has the all the grace of a baby elephant on ice skates, he trips, flails, and tries to grab on to whatever's near--namely, her arm.

[poins]

"Alas!"

She reaches out as if to steady him, but accidentally may twist a little...

Previously, in Milliways: "Autor gropes Poins' breast; head explosion follows."

[herr_bookman]

Huh, Autor thinks, once he's no longer toppling. Her arm shouldn't be this fat. Unconsciously, he gives an experimental squeeze.

Thanking her for catching him is his next step. But before his gaze reaches her face, it catches what, exactly, he steadied himself with.

"!" he squeaks.

Autor jerks his fingers away from said spherical globule of flesh and claps his palm over his mouth, only to tear it away as if his lips are on fire. He has a face to match.

Death would be a sweet mercy, he would think, if he were at all capable of thinking at the moment.

[poins]

She laughs.

"Likest thou what thou seest, and hast found, mayhap, some apples on the floor that thou wouldst take?"

[herr_bookman]

"Wait, what?" Autor drops his gaze to the floor to look, which also has the benefit of getting his eyes away from her face... and other places. "Apples?"

Then he realizes that her speech is not what he normally hears, despite being so used to the Elizabethan tongue.

Saints preserve us, he thinks, horrified. Bar has brought Doll Tearsheet to this doorstep.

[poins]

"Apples," she says, grinning, and peering down upon her breasts.

[herr_bookman]

She can't possibly mean... Autor thinks, jerking his eyes up to her face again. He works his mouth for a bit as he waits for the blood to finish rushing to his head. Well, it looks like she does! No. Not 'looks'. That's a terrible verb.

"Oh, really?" Autor says. He swallows, and is amazed to find this throat is raw. "A goodly pair of apples, rotten at the heart*, no doubt."


*The Merchant of Venice, adapted